Compared to Someone, Right?
You're being compared to someone, right? In the serene lady's mansion. After lunch, as I enjoyed tea time, I nodded while downing scorched rice tea from a teacup like some country bumpkin.
"Mm... nothing beats scorched rice tea after overeating."
Scorched rice tea, infused with that Korean sentiment. It was just well-cooked rice crisped over fire, but I swear nothing settled a bloated stomach quite like it. No castor oil tonic in this world, after all. It had been ages since I'd pigged out at Forest Friend, and my gut just wouldn't deflate, but the scorched rice tea had worked its magic. Better than Americano any day.
I set the teacup down on the table, steam rising in white wisps, just as a cool breeze drifted in.
"Ricardo."
The lady, sniffing curiously at the savory aroma, eyed the teacup and asked, "What're you drinking?"
"Scorched rice tea."
"Scorched rice tea...?"
"Ah, maybe sungnyung is the better word?"
"Sungnyung?"
"Think of it as something old men drink."
"Like you, Ricardo?"
"No?"
The lady leaned in close to the cup on the table, sniffing repeatedly. She seemed intrigued by the brownish liquid right in front of her. With cat-like eyes, she pressed her cheek against the table, rolling her gaze around as she asked, "Is it tasty?"
"Nah. Just savory."
"Hmm..."
The lady glanced at me cautiously once, then slowly reached out toward the scorched rice tea. I pretended not to notice her adorable sneakiness, gazing out the window and muttering, "Nice weather today," to hide my smile.
"Ooh..."
A clinking sound followed, then a soft "fuu" as she blew on the cup to cool it. Just as her breath brushed past, there came a little slurp and her cute exclamation.
"Oh...!"
Her eyes went wide—first time trying scorched rice tea, and it suited her commoner palate perfectly. I smiled at her unexpectedly un-noble tastes, watching her.
"Tasty?"
"Eek...?!"
Caught red-handed, the lady yanked back from the cup, feigning innocence. "I didn't eat any!"
She turned her head toward the window, as if to say What're you talking about?, but wilted under my stare, stroking the cup sadly. "I only had a little."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to!"
"Have I ever scolded you for eating?"
"Yeah. You have."
"...Fair point."
I smiled at her deflated response, meeting her eyes.
"So, was it good?"
"Yeah. Weird taste. Super savory, feels healthy. Not sure if it's tasty, but it's weirdly addictive."
"Ooh... you're getting old, huh."
"No way! I'm young!"
"Everyone says that."
"Tch..."
Lips pursed in playful pout, she slid her nearly empty cup toward me. "Wanna swap? It's cocoa."
"That's beyond shameless."
"I left a sip."
"A sip for whose nose? And that's not even half a sip."
"Close your eyes and it'll feel like a full one."
"..."
"No?"
At her sulky face, I shook my head, surrendering to her whining. Scorched rice tea was easy to make anytime—cheap ingredients, no hassle. I nodded to the lady, who was staring intently at the brownish liquid.
"Sure. Whatever."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Heehee... thanks."
A noble lady who loves scorched rice tea—what a riot. Her quirky tastes lifted my mood.
"No matter how I think about it, you don't seem like a noble."
"I am, though."
"No, I mean your tastes aren't noble-like. You eat anything I give you."
"Nuh-uh. Carrots, bell peppers, eggplant..."
Her fingers folding one by one as she listed dislikes had me stifling laughs. Regular nobles craved elegant, luxurious fare, but she was the opposite—at least with food. And her shy "thanks" from an ex-villainess? Touching.
She used to never say thanks.
-Not... thanking you!
-Tha... thanks... I want meat.
-It's a butler's job, obviously.
Time tames people, I mused. Before her collapse, she was like a rabid dog. Harsh simile, but she griped a lot back then.
-Not eating!
-Eat it.
-I said no! Bell peppers and eggplant don't mix!
Bedridden and stuck with my cooking post-collapse, she'd whined plenty. Maybe that's what brought us closer. Good things are good.
Academy days, she was assertive. Still is, but worse back then. Insulted commoners, dismissed inferiors, knew her superiority better than anyone.
After losing her legs to the black magic incident, the ice thawed some. But if she fully recovered? Who knows. The Olivia I see differs from others' views.
In the novel, she was pure psycho villainess—ferocious, never backing down, the ultimate baddie. Docile to her own like her father Darbav, arctic to outsiders. Difference: novel had no one on her side.
Whatever. I've always liked her as is, past or present.
"So good...!"
I grinned at her sparkling eyes and clenched fist. Time for more. I headed to the kitchen to brew another batch; she smiled, draining her cup.
*
Academy student council hallway.
Even before the new semester, executives gathered for an emergency meeting on the incident, filing into the room one by one.
Second-year top ranker. Third-year top. Treasurer. Secretary. Discipline head—qualified members entered.
At the door, a light green-haired guy paced anxiously, waiting for someone.
"Why isn't she here..."
Knock.
Ruin muttered, biting his nails. He'd arrived earliest, but his wait dragged on.
Since that day, he couldn't use his unique magic. It crushed him mentally—the edge over peers, his sole talent. Efficient fire magic generation gone left him blank slate. He could still cast, but learning anew was slow.
He'd devoted his life to flame magic, exploring it deeply. Losing "Letters of Fire" spelled downfall. Self-esteem plummeted.
Only one could fix it—not the root, but ease the worry: Yuria alone.
Ruin waited for her. To confess his mistake, explain his plight. Whine for comfort. He lingered by the door forever.
About ten minutes later, a familiar figure approached from afar.
Yuria!
Ruin smiled. Descending the stairs, she was beautiful as ever. He'd get her kind smile, her empathetic worry, like it happened to her.
He pushed off the wall, hurrying toward her with eager steps. Awkward smile as she neared, then trembling voice: "Yuria. I missed—"
Without looking, Yuria cut in coldly, flatly emotionless. "Don't talk to me."
"Wha...?"
"I don't wanna talk to you."
Thud. She shouldered past, not glancing back.
Trembling, Ruin turned to follow—powerless steps. He wanted to talk, apologize, beg forgiveness. Surely she'd relent.
But.
"Senior."
His junior blocked him.
"You did something hilarious, huh."
"What?"
"Heard from Yuria senior. What you pulled."
Hanna Histania beamed at him. Her dry smile and stiff tone weren't the timid junior he knew. No more cowering—this Hanna eyed him with genuine interest, or so chilling it felt like rage.
She chuckled dryly at Ruin. "Really, you're being compared to someone, right?"
Her words stabbed deeper than any dagger.